A Good Idea
by Kailey Hamilton
Summary: "I have a big fashion show coming up tomorrow... and I just invited a rock star to my hotel room." Sorato AU. One-shot. Sexual content.


_Notes: This was written for one of my faves, just because I wanted to. **ayumi-nightbeauty** , dear, you're always showering me (and us ladies in general) with awesome art and stories and wow. I've done nothing to deserve it, so thank you forever. And, hey, if you get to use me as an excuse for smut, I can do the same to you. That's the only thing that matters :P_

* * *

Sora was twenty-seven the first time one of her gowns sold for over a million yen. It had been a whim of hers, a dress-kimono hybrid one that almost didn't leave her studio... but she'd been behind deadlines for her winter collection, so she figured, that piece would do.

Two years later now, she's in Paris. _Paris_. It' all a blur; she rose too quickly and she fears that quickly she'll fall. Her team is all paid, no favors from the friend of a friend, or volunteers for experience - hell, her budget even allows her to fly in celebrities to make an appearance. Well, technically not _her_ budget - sponsors are just another perk.

Her million-yen gown has been replicated and re-imagined a thousand times, an ever-changing piece of her that had become an odd foundation to her life. She gets to do better, bigger things now. But, as she watches a dark-skinned model don one of her more traditional designs, she tears up. She never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams, she'd ever see a Western woman wearing one of her gowns.

"Are you alright, madam?"

Sora is slightly startled, not expecting the girl's question. But then she smiles, glancing at those beautiful women clad with her designs. Tomorrow they will be showing them to the world, and this is too good to be true.

She shakes her head, leaving the room without saying a word. She'd been mulling over a particular dilemma since the casting - she'd thought on a natural look for the girls, but with the stress of the preparations, she forgot that her idea of natural didn't quite translate into French. Should she straighten curly hair or leave it be? Should she make girls wear a bun? She wishes, she oh so desperately wishes she could bring her ideas forth in anything other than broken English... she would've brought her own, but the hairdresser and stylist are locals, part of the companies sponsoring the event she's participating in.

Which brings Sora her to her main problem, one she's delegated to one of her assistants to solve. But not taking care of it herself is starting to weigh on her, crawling up her belly and rattling her nerves.

 _Where is Mimi, anyway?_

* * *

Mimi can't fail her now. It's a general rehearsal of the whole thing. Lights have to be set and the soundtrack has to be timed. Clothes have to be measured one last time, and she has yet to decide the order in which the girls will walk. And the hairstyles, which she can't discuss with the hairdresser because they cannot communicate with each other. Stupid, stupid Sora, leaving for the West and failing to take into account things such as curly hair.

And French.

 _Is it wrong for me to be annoyed that they don't speak English?_

Her train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected sight.

It's a face she would recognize anywhere, pale white with full lips, and blue eyes that could pierce through her very soul. His blonde hair is a mess and there's something a bit careless about his look, something she's never seen in magazines and interviews.

 _What is Yamato Ishida doing here?_ Sora narrows her eyes. In any other situation, she might've been mildly star-struck, maybe even a bit taken by his unusual, good-looking features. But now... this is just what she needs, isn't it? Celebrities and their whims and sense of entitlement. She's dealt with too many of those - that's why she didn't want any major model walking for this show, and why she hadn't wanted to hire celebrities to appear in the first place.

But Yamato walks up to her, seeking to engage her. Sora has to look up to speak, as he's a full head taller than she is.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your assistant sent for me. She said you were looking for someone who can speak French." Sora can't quite put two and two together. "How can I help?"

Her annoyance dissipates in an instant.

"Come with me."

All that goes through Sora's mind is that she owes Mimi the world, and that finally she'll be able to properly communicate with the hairdresser.

* * *

This is a bad time for Sora to discover how much she dislikes French. She thinks it nasal and forced rather than soft or romantic. Or maybe it's the stress of the situation, of having to go through this literal rock star to tell someone how to do her models's hair. It's surreal, and it's infuriating. She tries to keep a composed face. This guy is doing her a favor, after all. This is not what he's being paid to do. He's just supposed to attend the event, that is all... and even her animosity can't possibly be justified. Sure, she didn't want to pay celebrities to show up. This is Paris. No one back in Japan could possibly expect celebrities to make an appearance, and most people around wouldn't care that Yamato Ishida is there. But she's got a PR guy for a reason, and she's got to trust him.

 _I shouldn't have told Mimi it was urgent._

Then again, it really was urgent. Yamato is brief in his translation, and she doesn't know how she would've managed without such a direct route to understanding. She's thankful, and a little bit ashamed, now that the calm has set after the storm. Dresses fit perfectly, curly hair looks amazing, and the track and lighting are adjusted to her liking, and she's been rude to this celebrity who, for some reason, has come here to help.

"I presume this is it," he says. The hairdresser looks just as pleased as herself, which gives Sora hope.

"It is. Thank you very much," she bows. " And I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

He shrugs, his icy features softening. "It's nothing. I understand."

"How did Mimi get you to come, anyway?"

He huffs. "You don't want to know."

"She can be... persistent. I hope she didn't cross any lines."

"Not at all. She was perfectly polite."

The question must be clear in her eyes, because he breathes in and opens his mouth to speak. It takes him a while to say the words, his eyes fixed on the floor and a faint blush making this A-list celebrity seem almost shy.

"I was hoping to get your autograph for my mother. She's a big fan of your designs."

* * *

Technically, Sora hired him. Kind of.

Technically, the same people who did hotel reservations for her, took care of his. It's a bit unsettling to her that she's not quite sure... point is, Yamato Ishida is staying at the same hotel she is.

Sora watches him sitting alone on the hotel bar, no bodyguards on sight. She doesn't know why his presence bothers her so much. She wants to turn around, have a night in and order room service instead of having dinner downstairs. She definitely doesn't need this the night before her show. All she needs is to relax, and she doesn't remember ever being more tense. What if this is all for nothing? What if her pieces aren't well received? What if she runs into him again?

 _I was so rude to him, when he was so kind._

Oh, she'd signed the piece of paper he'd extended and even agreed to take a picture. His demeanor had warmed up during the time they spent together - but nothing, nothing can convince Sora that she's not indebted.

 _You're actually paying for him to be here,_ she scolded herself. _Well, it's not like I'm the one actually paying for all of this. But still. He's dealt with worse._

She's doing it again. She's looking for reasons to remain antsy, pushing the upcoming show away from her mind and choosing to focus on trivialities instead. It's even worse than usual because she's drinking alone. Mimi had wanted to go out with some of the younger members in her team. Sora had made a pretext to stay.

 _It can't be too much fun,_ she thought wryly, _going out with the boss._

Mimi should be doing her own thing. She has her own talents and skills - she shouldn't be working on Sora's stuff, as she did when they were both in college. All her other friends have moved on...

 _Then again, Mimi has always wanted to come to Paris. It was her choice. I told her a thousand times..._

Sora shakes her head. That thread of thought is no better than thinking of Yamato Ishida and their awkward meeting. She's going to need a drink, or otherwise her mind will get the best of her. So she walks up to the bar, standing right next to Yamato, and orders a glass of wine.

"Make it two," Yamato says promptly, startling her, and then turns to her. "Good evening, Sora. Did everything turn out alright?"

 _Is he eager...? No, I'm imagining that._

"I... well, it did, thank you. It's frustrating not to be able to communicate properly." She's just blabbering now, fearing silence. "It's... weird, not being in Japan."

"Tell me about it." He sighs. "I can walk outside like a normal human being. Although some girls recognized me in the street, as I was on my way back from your venue. I was not expecting that."

Sora can't hold back a giggle, as Yamato scratches the back of his neck. Yamato Ishida is relatively big internationally; this isn't the kind of thing that should surprise him. Then again, she can't quite relate; her name is well-known, but her face isn't.

"It's nice to have your life's work recognized, however."

"True."

There's a small pause in their conversation. Both of them drink from their wine. It's not nearly as awkward as she'd feared, but now it's all said and done... now she's just sitting here, no pressing matters at hand... Now she's star-struck. Or at the very least, intensely enthralled by his appearance, his demeanor, his style. His body language exudes a very modest sort of confidence, one she's always been drawn to.

"This is a big break for you, isn't it?" Yamato interrupts her thoughts. She hopes she's not blushing.

"It is. It's my first time outside of Japan, too. It's all a bit too much. Which reminds me, actually... I'm sorry, but I must know. How come you speak French?"

"My grandfather lives here. I used to come here in the summer with my younger brother. Our grandfather only speaks to us in French, even if he speaks perfect Japanese. I'm not very good at it, just... enough."

"You helped me a great deal today. Thank you."

"I told you it was alright. I'm glad it was all sorted out. Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"I think I am. I don't know. I'm trying not to think much about it. I think I'll later go upstairs and work on my next project. Just to keep my mind off of things."

"You brought your work to Paris." That's not quite a question, more of an observation.

"I have another deadline coming up soon. I can't afford to waste time. This is a very challenging project."

"More challenging than making dresses for Paris Fashion Week?"

"Well... it's not dresses this time. That's the thing. I want to have a men's collection out by this time next year."

"That's intriguing. I'll be looking forward to that."

"I have some of my designs upstairs, if you want to see."

Yamato raises his eyebrows. "Alright."

It's only when they're halfway to the elevator, glasses of wine still in hand, that Sora realizes exactly what she's done.

* * *

Some things are hard to care about after a few glasses of wine. She hadn't even thought of opening the complimentary wine bottle she'd gotten from the hotel...

But here they are. Even as she's skipped dinner in favor of this conversation, she still drinks. It makes it all more bearable. She'll regret it later, but she cannot handle it now.

 _I have a big fashion show coming up tomorrow... and I just invited a rock star to my hotel room._

"So this is it," he says. He saves her the awkwardness of having to explain and apologize for her mess, and heads directly for the desk. Her sketches are sprawled there, along with some pieces of fabric.

"Don't touch," she warns.

"You actually brought all of this from Japan. Do you have a sewing machine hidden somewhere?" He's just teasing her, but she blushes anyway.

"I wish. No. I just bought these samples before the rehearsal, for inspiration. I have only one finished piece, this one right here... but with the fabric I'm finding here..."

"Can I see it?"

His eager tone makes Sora laugh. She's supposed, until now, that his sense of style is imposed by his team, rather than a matter of personal interest. She was wrong. Very wrong.

"Try it on," she says.

It was a green button shirt, with a weaved pattern in the cuffs and neck. Not her best work, but definitely a decent stepping stone. On the other hand...

On the other hand, asking Yamato to try it on was definitely not a good idea. Sora wants to think it's the alcohol. Or maybe the ease she makes her feel. Or maybe... maybe anything, but not the fact that he's so incredibly gorgeous and changing clothes in front of her. And taking his time, too, appearing nonchalant as if he wasn't doing it on purpose, as if he didn't know his abs are as perfect as they appear in pictures.

Sora starts placing all her loose sketches onto a neat pile, her back pointed at Yamato. Why are her hands shaking? She shouldn't be feeling like this.

"What do you think?" He asks, forcing her to look.

It had been her idea. Her bad idea.

"Looks amazing."

Sora admires him shamelessly. It sometimes amazes her. This is just fabric, that she bids to do her will. Fabric that had taken her ages to find, iron, sew together. Just fabric, that she can turn into more than just fabric. Sometimes she feels like a magician, crafting spells and turning materials into something beautiful.

"Is it supposed to fit like this?"

"More or less," she says vaguely. She doesn't offer to adjust it. No. One stupid mistake was enough. Being so close to him, touching him... no. Even if it's very tempting. "Green is nice on you. Better than black."

"I could wear this to a show, couldn't I?"

"I didn't say you could keep it."

"Of course not. I'm sure your husband will love it."

Her heart jumps. She doesn't know why... except Yamato is definitely trying to get her to confess that she's single.

Well, she'll indulge him.

"I don't even have a boyfriend," she says. "Why would you assume I have one?"

"Why wouldn't you? Unless you didn't want to."

"I didn't say I don't want to... I don't need to, certainly. And I don't want to give up doing what I love." Sora gives him a hard stare. She doesn't mean to, but her frustration is coming afloat. "I'm better off alone, or otherwise, I would've never made it to Paris."

"No woman _needs_ a man in her life, I give you that." Yamato leans in closer. Light dances in his eyes, and Sora could've sworn there is a tiny smirk wishing to break through pale lips. "But there's nothing wrong with _wanting_ one."

* * *

He started it. Sora is certain that he started it.

It was him who smiled like that, touched her arm like that and kept leaning in. It was him who playfully twisted a strand of her hair between his fingers as he whispered in her ear, even though no one was listening... He started it. Even if she did kiss him first. He started it, even if she was the one to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his shirt.

Yamato takes off her top and raises her skirt all the way to her waist and she gasps when cold air envelops her body. His fingers dig into her thighs, propping her up ever-so-slightly so she's sitting on her desk. Vague worries about her work in progress assault her but they all vanish into thin air as he pushes inside her _._

All night Sora has been wanting to ride him to the point of oblivion, but it's Yamato thrusting deep and making her moan, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and kissing her hotly. He's taking his sweet, sweet time, driving her mad with every movement and making her squirm and writhe against him. She can't take it. It's been so long and he feels so damn _good_.

She pulls back to see his face is covered by a thin layer of sweat, blue eyes barely showing behind eyelashes and Sora can swear she's never seen anything that glorious.

 _Faster._

Yamato smirks. Sora screams. Her fingernails dig into his skin, her head falls over his shoulder as his naked chest presses against hers... she's paralyzed, overwhelmed by sheer pleasure and all she can do is whimper as Yamato takes her higher and closer, _so much closer_...

He slides his hand between her legs and one touch is all she needs. Shocks flow through her body as she calls his name.

* * *

"Those are beautiful. It would've been a shame to ruin them."

Sora can't tell if he's being sassy, or entirely honest. She cannot answer anyway. What matters is, none of her sketches are ruined, but he still checks them, just in case. The half-empty glasses of wine are just inches away from where she'd been... sitting, for lack of a better word. It was a matter of luck they didn't spill over.

 _We could've at least done it on the bed. It's right here._

She straightens her skirt and searches for her discarded bra, her rumpled top, her lost dignity. Oh, God. Mimi will never let her see the end of this... if she finds out. And she will find out. It's Mimi.

 _Should I kick him out? Should I let him stay? I can't believe I just..._

She's fully dressed now, and Yamato is looking at one of the hotel's booklets. He hasn't bothered to fix his clothes. Hell, he's still got that damn shirt still on, still unbuttoned.

Sensing her stare, he looks up, his cheeks colored pink. All the traces of his previous boldness are gone and Sora doesn't want to find him endearing. Not after what they just did. She cannot, will not, be okay with this situation.

"Do you mind if I order room service, Sora? I am starving."

She loses that battle without a fight.


End file.
